


behind the curtain

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Series: Blood and Fire [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Codependency, Dubious Morality, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sibling Incest, Sister-Sister Relationship, Unrequited Lieumon, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: What went on after the Lieutenant’s attack on Korra and before she woke up again.





	behind the curtain

“The Avatar—”

“What do I care about the Avatar? Why do you? You’re not one of us. I don’t know what Amon is thinking!”

Taraka yawned. At the Lieutenant’s expression, she smiled sweetly and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s my fault—repetition makes me  _so_ sleepy.” Actually, it was healing the Avatar, but that was his fault, too. “Did you get to the part about how I should stay silent in the presence of my superiors? If you could just put a new spin on it, I might even be able to stay awake.”

He glowered at her. “You have no business talking over non-benders,  _Councilwoman_. If you can’t understand that, you have no place in our movement.”

“Oh, I understand,” she said, holding her smile in place and her eyes wide. “It’s a hard job, keeping me in my place, but someone has to do it. Since Amon doesn’t seem to be concerned at all, I guess it has to be you. No doubt  _she’ll_  understand, too—that you know best and see these things so much more clearly than she does.”

The Lieutenant paled. “Are you threatening me?”

“Don’t be silly.” Taraka considered devoting her attention to her clipboard, walking away, or repairing her make-up, and decided the latter would probably irritate him most. She drew a small mirror out of her purse, studying her reflection. Perhaps maroon, she thought, digging around for lipstick. “Mentioning your diligence in performing your duty? What kind of threat is that?” She carefully applied the deep red to her lips, not even bothering to look at him. “Unless she  _wouldn’t_ understand, of course.”

“You dare—”

She finally glanced over. “Really, all this cloak and dagger nonsense isn’t worth the trouble—particularly not when you did more harm to yourself yesterday than I could dream of. Trying to kill the Avatar, really?” He flinched. “Oh, but I’m being uncharitable. No doubt you were just trying to make me feel at home. That’s really very sweet of you.” Taraka snapped the mirror shut. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to repair your damage.”

She strode past, rather enjoying his glare on her back. She couldn’t sense every twitch the way Nataka could, but she’d know if he attacked her, as she had known when he attacked Korra.

_I should have noticed sooner._

Taraka shook her head, dismissing the thought. Korra was so  _violent._ She had seen that scene coming from a mile off, had warned Nataka, and Korra herself, not that either of them had listened. But the line between his subduing her and his assaulting her had been unclear, for that one moment, and in the next, passed into attempted murder. Taraka had acted instantly, seizing the Lieutenant’s limbs without a second thought, but it  _still_  might not have been fast enough.

Taraka looked at her hands.  _You have that power in you, girls—_ she clenched them shut. What use was it if they failed? Well, that was why Nataka was Amon, wasn’t it? Had their positions been reversed,  _she_ would have stopped him fast enough. Only the next few hours would show if Taraka had.

She turned around a corner, stopping at a window. She had to be calm and controlled; rage gave a quick boost, but she needed sustained strength. Besides, if Korra woke up, she’d have to calm  _her_ , too. Taraka closed her eyes and breathed in and out, slowly and evenly, until she felt her nerves settling. She opened her eyes; the afternoon was deepening. All for the better. She’d need all the power she could get for this.

Yakone had taught them power, but the wrong kind. Dominance over everything, even the bodies of other living things, even the moon itself. So what if the animals were tormented? They were only there for their use, anyway. It was Sura who taught them to respect the moon-princess and the sea, to heal, to understand their element ( _you must always be ready to adapt where you can, and create change where it is needed_ ), to care for one another, no matter what.

The moon was rising. Taraka hurried outside and jumped into her Satomobile, hitting the gas pedal so hard that gravel sprayed back from under her wheels. A pity, she thought, that the Lieutenant hadn’t been behind it. Another time, perhaps.

* * *

Korra was still unconscious, and otherwise in exactly the same shape she had been when Nataka dragged Taraka off to rest. The most superficial of the burns had healed—good. They’d been so preoccupied with her heart, which had stopped three times, that Taraka couldn’t even remember if she’d managed to heal anything else.

She gathered water around her hands and placed them over the Avatar’s heart; she could feel both the damaged tissues, labouring to keep her blood flowing, and the cluster of blocked, tangled energies. It would do no good to force them into order—Nataka had learned that the hard way—but she could encourage the flow of her chi and the natural healing of her body:  _strongly_ encourage.

Taraka stayed at Korra’s side for another hour, glowing water held over her chest, paying no attention to anything but the beat of the girl’s heart. Stable for now, she thought finally, returning the water to the skin she now constantly wore at her waist, but she didn’t like—

Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Taraka spun around.

“Nataka!”

Her sister, thankfully unmasked and unpainted, smiled. “It’s fortunate that the Lieutenant didn’t come back to finish the job.”

“He doesn’t have the key,” Taraka said automatically.

Nataka studied her. “How long have you been here?”

“An hour—a little more,” said Taraka. She rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Korra won’t reincarnate today. We’ll have to wait at least a few minutes to see beyond that.”

“Good work. You should have waited for me, though.” Nataka, not seeming to like whatever she’d found in her face, took her arm and drew her away, towards the chair by the window.

“I’m tired,” Taraka admitted. “But it has to be me.  _I’m_  the revolution’s pet waterbender, after all. It’ll look suspicious if you’re here too often.”

“I know,” said Nataka, but she didn’t sound as if she were even listening. She tipped Taraka’s face up into the fading light from the window, her own face tightening in disapproval, eyes worried beneath drawn brows. Dropping her hand, she crossed her arms and scowled down at her. “Spirits, Taraka. Did you even sleep?”

“A little. Korra is far worse—”

“The significance of the Avatar’s condition, good  _or_ poor, ranks somewhere beneath keeping you in jasmine perfume.”

Taraka laughed. “Well, you do.”

“It’s a small enough thing.” Nataka turned away, clearly still dissatisfied. “The implication of this—unfortunate circumstance is that the Avatar  _generally_ fights whoever chi-blocks her. Is that true?”

Taraka shrugged. “It depends. She’s calmer when it’s just me.”

“But she has attacked you?”

“Occasionally.” Taraka saw her sister’s shoulder stiffen. “Nataka, it’s not—”

“Has she hurt you?”

“Of course not!”

Nataka glanced over her shoulder at her, one eyebrow raised. Taraka—already, she assured herself, recovered from her brief exhaustion—got to her feet.

“Of course not?” Nataka repeated. “This is the Avatar! She’s dangerous. We’ve been too lax with her.”

“She’s  _not_ the Avatar,” said Taraka, walking around to face her.

“What?”

Taraka took her sister’s hands, shaped so much like her own, but stronger, the callouses rough against her own smooth skin. She looked up into Nataka’s drawn face. “Even if she could use her bending, Korra cannot bend a puff of air. She cannot access the Avatar State, or pass into the spirit world. The Avatar is a bender of all elements, able to draw on the wisdom and power of their past lives, and a bridge between the two worlds. Korra is  _none_ of these things. She’s nothing more than a seventeen-year-old—”

“An  _adult_ ,” Nataka interjected.

“A seventeen-year-old firebender who happens to be able to bend earth and water, too. Chi-blocking can disable her bending easily enough, and without that, her only real importance is as political capital.” Taraka smiled, refusing to let any doubt cloud her mind. “I know what I’m doing. I’m thirty-seven years old. It’s not your duty to protect me any more.”

“I am your older sister,” said Nataka. “It will  _always_ be my duty.”

Perhaps she should have resented that, at her age—long before this age. Instead, Taraka felt obscurely comforted, the small, unsettled anxieties that so often shadowed the edges of her thoughts drifting away. It was if the world, her world, had finally taken on its proper shape. She could not imagine a life without Nataka as her companion and champion, but she feared it; she always had. How many times had she thought,  _if Nataka hadn’t been there—?_ Or, as they grew older, and their mother began to talk more of work and marriage, their father of revenge:  _what if Nataka leaves me?_

Never, never, never. Taraka smiled, reassured rather than reassuring, and not caring that her relief must be written over her face. Nataka, though, didn’t look relieved at all, just fierce and determined, her grip tight on Taraka’s fingers.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Taraka said. “But there’s no danger. I captured her for you, remember? The Lieutenant is more dangerous to me than Korra is. He’d murder me in my sleep if he knew where I slept.” Then she laughed. “That’d be an unpleasant surprise for him.”

Nataka’s face, and hands, finally relaxed. “I still don’t know where you got the ridiculous idea that he—” Her mouth twisted.

“His face,” said Taraka. “No doubt he imagines that if he electrocutes enough teenage firebenders, he’ll win your heart. He probably has a wall covered with pictures of you and replica Amon masks.”

“Nonsense,” Nataka said, but she was laughing under her breath. “He’s a very devoted servant of the revolution, that’s all. If he knew what I really am, he’d turn on me in an instant. Everyone would.”

There was something strange in her tone; not quite regret, but almost. Taraka stepped nearer, and pressed her face against her sister’s shoulder. “I wouldn't— _never._ ”

“You already know all about me,” said Nataka, slinging her arms about Taraka’s waist, hands lightly clasped at her back. “You were  _there._ ”

Taraka shivered, and Nataka’s chin dropped to rest against her head. “I’m sure he’s dead by now.”

 _Both of them_ went unsaid. Taraka just nodded. After a moment, she said into Nataka’s coat, “She reminds me of you.”

“Mother?” said Nataka. “I’m nothing—” She stiffened, drawing back. “The  _Avatar?_ ”

Taraka nodded, grinning at her sister’s horrified expression.  _Protected_ didn’t have to mean  _cowed_. “Yes.”

“But why? Her hair?”

“Well, she does look like you—very like you, but it’s not that. She’s strong, just like you’ve always been. If, say, Tenzin somehow took you captive—and yes, I know it could never happen—but if you were in her circumstances, you’d fight back every change you got, and you’d refuse to give up. Particularly when you were her  _age_.” Taraka shrugged. “She’s resilient and strong-willed, and I’m sure she largely meant well. Yes, I respect that, and her, and I’m sure that’s why she’s so much more … accommodating with me.—Speaking of whom, I’d better see if she needs healed again.”

“Absolutely not. I’ll do it.” Nataka strode over to the water bowl.

“All right, but don’t break anything.”

Nataka gave a long-suffering sigh, then held the water over Korra’s chest. She was a stronger healer than Taraka—a stronger everything—but she could be careless. To her considerable embarrassment, it had taken her longer to learn than Taraka, and her frustration had only made it worse. Taraka hadn’t understood it.

_She **can** do it, can’t she?_

_Yes_ , their mother had said,  _she has the power to heal—but it takes spirit, too. Nataka has the heart of a warrior, not a healer._

She’d mastered it eventually, as she did anything she set her mind to, but never much cared for it. Even before the revolution, Nataka had preferred to leave healing to Taraka; Taraka had preferred it too. She watched anxiously, biting her lip.

“Stop that,” Nataka said irritably.

Over the next few hours, Taraka did, at least, manage to convince her to trade the work off—“it’s safer for me to exhaust myself than you,” she said, and couldn’t repress a sly smile. “What  _would_ the lieutenant think?”

It was past midnight, and Korra still unconscious, when Nataka said, “You may have a point.”

Taraka blinked, trying to clear her foggy mind. “I—what?”

“You  _may_.”

“What are you talking about?”

They’d kept the lights dim; it was impossible to read Nataka’s expression. “Avatar Korra.  _Perhaps_ it’d be best if you alone dealt with her. After next month, perhaps.” Taraka didn’t know what she had planned for the following month, and didn’t care to ask. When the time came, she would do what she was told, just as she always had. “Obviously the Lieutenant cannot, even with others present. If she’s at all inclined to trust you—”

“I’m working on it,” said Taraka, looking down at Korra. There was a nasty ashen tinge to her skin. Perhaps it was simply the lighting—a single lamp, and the dull blueish light of Nataka’s waterbending. She laid her hand against Korra’s forehead; her skin was cooler, but still clammy. Strands of hair clung to her cheeks.

It had benefited Taraka, to be kind where she could. But that, she thought, was not why she had done it. Something almost like fear rattled her nerves. Korra could only ever be a pale shadow of what Nataka was to her, of course. But for whatever reason, Taraka was not like Nataka, not in this. Nataka had often and freely told her that there would never be anyone more important to her than Taraka, nobody who even mattered, ever. Something, Taraka sometimes thought, had broken in her sister long ago, left Nataka able to care, but only for Taraka. Even now, it was heady to be the objection of that kind of devotion, loved and valued without the slightest shred held back for someone else. It felt right, even if it weren’t. But it wasn’t Taraka’s way. She was whole, or less broken, or something; she cared more for her sister than anything, and there was nothing she would not do for her, but Nataka was not  _all_ she cared about. She had loved their mother—and she loved Republic City—and she did not love Korra, but she still cared for her.

She didn’t like this, seeing Korra hurt. That bold, vibrant, interestingly ruthless girl,  _stupidly_ rash, lying still on her bed, lucky even to live? It felt more wrong than anything she and Nataka had yet done.

“At the very least,” Taraka said, her voice even, “I should be able to keep her contained more easily than any of you.” She examined her sister’s face, then reached out a hand to her cheek. “Now  _you_ look terrible. You need your sleep, too.”

Nataka was already shaking her head, though her lids were heavy. “I can’t leave. You might need another waterbender.”

“Sleep there, then,” Taraka said, pointing to the chair by the window. “You won’t be able to help me if you’re more exhausted than I am,” she added.

“All right.” Nataka covered up a yawn, and walked, a little unevenly, to the chair, while Taraka hovered behind her. “Stop it, I'm—” She blinked— “I’m fine.”

Taraka unearthed a spare blanket from beneath Korra’s bed and draped it over her, ignoring Nataka’s mumbled protests.

“Go to sleep,” she said softly, leaning down to kiss her. “I’ll wake you up if anything changes.”

Then she returned to Korra’s side, wondering what, exactly, she was going to do.


End file.
